


The guessing game

by LostinFic



Series: Doctor x Rose Kink flashfiction [2]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Blindfolds, F/M, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-24 07:16:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14350569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostinFic/pseuds/LostinFic
Summary: "It started innocently enough, he had to guess a flavour, a scent or an object placed in his hand. The problem, he quickly realizes, is that with no stimuli to distract him, Rose becomes the main stimulus."





	The guessing game

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted by Badwolfgeek for my kink flashfiction night on Tumblr.

In hindsight, the Doctor realizes he has fallen right into Rose’s trap. She’d teased him about his supposed superior Time Lord senses, and he’d had to go and brag about being able to smell strawberries five kilometers away. When she’d challenged him to a guessing game, his honour was on the line; After months of travelling with her, he was still hell-bent on proving to her that he was, in fact, so impressive.

Which is how he found himself with Rose in the thinking room, a room specifically designed to offer as little stimulation as possible so as not to distract him, only a padded floor and dim lights gently fazing through the colours of the rainbow.

Oh, and she blindfolded him. 

“No peeking,” she joked, smoothing the fabric over his eyelids.

It started innocently enough, he had to guess a flavour, a scent or an object placed in his hand. The problem, he quickly realizes, is that with no stimuli to distract him, Rose becomes the main stimulus. 

Every time she leans close to his ear to make him guess a sound, every time she guides a piece of food to his lips, every time she touches his hand to give him an object. She suffuses his nervous system with her presence, neurons alight with excitement, awash with endorphins. Her slightly throaty voice and musical laughter, the quiet smack of her lips, the brush of cotton against her skin releasing molecules of ether and lotion and hormones, the caress of her breath of his cheek, the press of her breasts against his upper arm, the hitch in her throat when he touches her thigh instead of the floor, the taste of her fingertips on his lips. 

He’s high on her. Aroused in every possible way.

She’s moving, the floor squeaks under her, fabric ruffles, an elastic snaps. He hears her swallow: she’s nervous. Something dangles in front of his nose.

“Can you guess what this is?”

He inhales deeply and gasps. It’s tangy, sweet and salty all at once. His throat constricts around her name. “Rose?” His cock swells against tight denim.

“I’ll give you a hint,” she teases. She cradles his hand, spreads his fingers with a brush of his palm and places the garment in it. It’s warm and slightly damp, the fine mesh catches on the rough pad of his thumb. Lace. Purple.

“I need another hint,” he says.

Her breath shudders and there’s a lecherous wet noise. The Doctor’s nails dig into the cushioned floor. Her fingers ghost across his lips, and he catches them, sucking on the flavour of her lust.

“There’s more where that came from,” she giggles, and the Doctor tackles her to the floor.


End file.
